Down the teacup
by June Ellie
Summary: Lestrade was pretty sure that fighting rainbow-pooping unicorns was not part of his job description. Co-authored with Elegant Malice.


**Another crack fic, brought to you by the insane minds behind 221B Jurassic Street.**

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Unicorns. Rainbow-pooping unicorns.

You'd expect many things in a zombie apocalypse, but unicorns would be near the bottom of that list.

Sighing, I hefted up my trusty bazooka and pulled the trigger. The unicorn exploded into a glittering shower of chocolate chips and sprinkles.

"Bloody hell," I muttered to myself. "This is the last time I ever drink anything from Sherlock's kitchen."

"Lestrade, what are you doing?" A winged teddy bear wearing a clown suit spoke up in Sherlock's voice.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm cleaning up your mess again," I snapped, spinning around to face him.

As soon as I did, I wished I hadn't. The technicolour landscape melted into shadows and streaks of blood. The unicorns weren't unicorns at all. Everywhere I looked, rotting corpses sporting half-familiar faces advanced menacingly towards me.

"Alright you bastards, let's see how much lead you can swallow before you learn to stay down." Only my shaking hands betrayed my fear as I aimed at the advancing horde.

"Lestrade, stop. John's already been hit with enough banana peels," Sherlock's disembodied voice echoed across the hellish terrain.

Thoroughly flabbergasted, I forced myself to turn away from my attackers, lowering my weapon slightly. "For God's sake Sherlock, can't you see we have bigger problems to deal with at the moment?"

"Lestrade, listen to me. That's a banana you're holding, not a gun. I need you to sit down and drink some water." John's soothing voice cut through the fog of panic engulfing me. I felt a hand grip my shoulder firmly, guiding me towards a large purple mushroom and pushing me to sit down. Swallowing my revulsion, I gulped down the bubbling potion John handed me, choking on the taste.

The world spun maddeningly. Slowly, the red streaks bled away to reveal a familiar face gazing worriedly at me.

Blinking dazedly, I made to stand, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. John reached out and steadied me. "Take it easy Lestrade. The drug shouldn't have any lasting effects, but you might feel light-headed for the next few hours."

"What drug? And I had better be on paid leave for this," I rasped, surprised by how weak I sounded.

Sherlock's lanky figure towered over us, grey eyes alight with burning curiosity. "How are you feeling?" he asked, managing to sound both unconcerned and supercilious.

"How do you think I'm feeling?" I winced as my head throbbed unpleasantly.

"Are you feeling light-headed? Does your cold sweat extend to your back? Nausea, giddiness and the likes? What did you see? It took some time to synthesise the drug, but I'm positive it worked and gave you an alternative view of the world. Come on Lestrade, we're on the verge of a major breakthrough here!" Sherlock exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulders.

Thankfully for Sherlock, John stepped in before I could punch him. "Sherlock, leave the man alone." John glared at his unrepentant flatmate, folding his arms.

Sherlock looked put out, like a child whose favourite toy had been confiscated. "But John—"

John raised an eyebrow at him. "Might I remind you that Lestrade's in this mess simply because he came to deliver a case file to you?"

"I hardly see how your inability to distinguish teacups is my fault," Sherlock retorted petulantly.

"Wait, what?" I looked at the arguing duo in confusion. John sighed. "Sherlock apparently decided to use me as a guinea pig for his experiments — again. He drugged my tea with a new compound he was working on. Unfortunately, when you called round, I accidentally gave you the drugged tea."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," I muttered. The adrenaline rush had worn off, and I was in no mood to deal with Sherlock and his mad scientist tendencies.

"Oh Inspector, how nice of you to drop by. Would you like some tea?" Mrs Hudson's cheerful voice cut through the heavy fog of my thoughts.

"No thanks, Mrs Hudson. I think I've had enough tea for today." I made for the door, ignoring the pounding headache still plaguing me.

Suddenly, the nausea surged tenfold and I toppled forward, only to be caught my long, thin arms preventing me from landing face-first on the ground.

"Easy there Inspector." Sherlock's calm baritone sounded oddly apologetic. I closed my eyes involuntarily, wishing my head would stop spinning.

It took a moment for me to realise that Sherlock was guiding me to the sofa. As soon as I was sitting down, Sherlock let go of my arm, vanishing into the kitchen. In a few moments, he reappeared, holding another glass of water. I eyed it suspiciously.

"Do relax Lestrade, I assure you it's not drugged." Sherlock rolled his eyes, ignoring the exasperated look John shot him.

I gave in, taking the glass and sipping from it. Slowly, the nausea ebbed away. Looking up, I found Sherlock still gazing at me intently.

"As you've just observed, it would be unwise of you to return to the Yard until the symptoms fade. I'll let Donovan and Anderson know you'll be here for a while." In one fluid movement, he stood, turning away as he pulled out his mobile.

"Donovan? For goodness' sake don't hang up! Lestrade won't be back at the Yard for a while— What do you mean, what did I do to him?"

There was a burst of angry shouting from the phone, which Sherlock bore for five seconds before cutting in tersely. "Donovan, it was a perfectly safe experiment. Besides, it wasn't meant for Lestrade, John gave it to him by mistake. What? What do you mean—"

Sherlock threw his hands up in exasperation. "Hopefully, she got the point before she hung up on me. In any case, feel free to stay here. I'm sure Mrs Hudson will bring you some biscuits." Turning around, he flashed a brief grin at Mrs Hudson.

"You stay right there Inspector, but just this once. I'm their landlady, not their housekeeper." With that, she clattered down the stairs.

"Do rest Lestrade. We can't have the sole remotely competent DI in the Yard collapsing on us," Sherlock said dismissively before disappearing out the door.

Back in the silence of the room, John sighed. "Sorry about that."

"No worries," I replied, my exhaustion tempered by the reluctant glow of pride at Sherlock's (admittedly backhanded) praise.

It's small moments like this that make dealing with the annoying bastard worth it. Even if my aspirin bill tripled in the last month.


End file.
